There's More Than One Kind of Vampire
by kitsunelover
Summary: You can raise your crosses and bar your windows... it won't do you any good.


_There's More Than One Kind of Vampire_

Disclaimer: I don't even own Harry Potter in my dreams, so back off!  HP is the property of the infinitely magnificent Ms. Rowling.

A/N: This fic is Lucius-centric.  I seem to be writing mostly about him these days.  *sigh*  He's too bloody irresistible.

Summary: Raise your cross and bar your windows . . . it won't do any good.

"Thank you, my dear."

She opens her eyes to see him standing at the side of the bed, fully dressed.  Wincing, she props herself up on one elbow.

Lucius leans down and kisses her deeply, brushing stray locks of hair from her face as he does so.  He's not sorry he seduced her; she is extraordinarily beautiful and spirited.  The day ahead is full, however, and he hasn't the time - or indeed, the inclination - to consider the girl's feelings.

When they break apart, her face is somehow paler and thinner than before.

"Will you be there on Sunday?" she asks.

Before she quite finishes her sentence, he breaks in: "I'm afraid not.  Some other time, perhaps."

Lucius pauses to smile.

"I had a lovely night."

Now her expression is strangely hollow as well.

On his way out, Lucius hums a few bars from one of his favorite arias and twirls his cane pleasantly.

***

"Mr. Noirot, may I introduce you to Lucius Malfoy?  He's one of the most distinguished gentlemen of my acquaintance."  Beaming, Fudge looks as if he's about to burst with pride when Lucius bows and takes Noirot's hand amiably.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Noirot."

"Malfoy . . . a very old family, is it not?"

"One of the oldest," Fudge is quick to reply.

Only the keenest observer could detect the hint of exasperation in Lucius' smiling face.

"And," Fudge adds, "Lucius is extremely generous.  He makes donations to excellent causes."

"Mmm."  Noirot makes a noise of polite interest.

"But please, don't let that affect your opinion of me," Lucius says.

Noirot finally gives a genuine laugh.  Immediately, Fudge starts chuckling as well.

The disarming, modest smile on Lucius' face is plastered on so stiffly that Lucius feels like a coy school girl.

When Noirot moves away, Fudge turns to Lucius eagerly and offers, "Shall I present the German fellow over there to you?  He's Audric Rick, Reck – er, Reichman.  Of course you've heard of him, he's the -."

"Of course," Lucius agrees smoothly.  "Lead the way, Minister."

As months go by, Fudge's pockets grow heavier with gold, and Lucius' lighten.  It's Fudge, however, that seems to get skinnier, and sometimes, he looks positively translucent.

Lucius stands behind the Minister, always gracious, always openhanded.  Fudge doesn't notice that he is lost in the taller man's shadow.  Lucius keeps smiling.

***

"Lucius."  Snape's voice is unwelcoming; his eyes are guarded.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

A moment passes in silence.

"Come in, then."

"I do hope I'm not intruding."

The door closes.

Swift, furtive looks take in Snape's chambers.  The man is reasonably neat, Lucius observes, the only thing he's got going for him.  Furnishings are sparse, and the color scheme is what Lucius would deem appropriate for a hundred-fifty year-old man on his death bed.

Snape takes the best armchair in the room.  It's upholstered in supple black leather and comfortably close to the blazing fireplace.  Disregarding the absence of an invitation to have a seat, Lucius sits in the next best armchair; which is cushiony and snug, if ugly.  A similarly unattractive sofa stands between them.

"How have you been, Severus?" inquires Lucius cordially.  Whenever he is being civil, one can't help but think the man is completely sincere, no matter how much of a lying bastard they may know him to be.  Such is the case with Snape.

"Tolerably well, thank you.  May I ask why you're here?"  Snape understands Lucius is ridiculously charismatic, and is charmed against his will, but he isn't so far gone that he forgets to be wary.

"I'm looking in on Draco," says Lucius.

"Ostensibly," mutters Snape.

"And I thought that while I was here, I might stop in to have a chat," Lucius continues.  Whether Lucius heard him or not, Snape doesn't know.

He does know, however, that whatever possessed Lucius to come see him, he won't be leaving for a while.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please."

Snape leaves and returns bearing a tray with two shot glasses and a decanter of mediocre gin.  

"Thank you," says Lucius as Snape hands him a glass of the sorry stuff.

When Snape resumes sitting, he occupies the place on the unappealing sofa closest to Lucius.

"I understand you've been quite busy," remarks Lucius.

"I suppose."

"What has that old fool been foisting onto you?"  Lucius' voice is terribly sympathetic.

"Ah . . ."  Snape mutters something about "various menial chores" and "the usual tedious duties."

"Oh?"  His tone and raised eyebrow invite further elaboration.

"I doubt that you would be interested, Lucius."  Ever the cunning Slytherin himself, Snape forces a laugh that almost has Lucius fooled.

"I am," Lucius assures him.

"It's too long and convoluted to explain."

"The night is long, my friend."

One of Lucius' white hands comes up and lightly caresses the shot glass, his thumb slipping over its transparent curves.

"Talk to me."

The bobbing of Snape's Adam's apple is scarcely visible under his starched collar, but Lucius sees it just the same.

Snape knows he is lost.

***

During the interval between the darkest time of the night and the warm haze of sunrise, Lucius emerges from Snape's quarters.  His countenance does not wear a smile, self-satisfied or otherwise; rather, it bears a satiated expression.

Back in his rooms, Snape downs his fifteenth shot of gin.  He drinks to forget, and if you look closely enough, you can see the raw despair in his eyes.

A/N: Oh, yeah, you know, reviews would be nice.  I mean, it's not like I'm on my knees for them.  *whistles nonchalantly*


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